Pain of a Geas
by Caelistis.Rydraline
Summary: Yoshimo had never expected Irenicus' geas to put him in a situation like this. And either way he went there would be pain.


It took him all of three days with the elf's party to realize that when the time came, going though with his task was going to be difficult. The beserker, Minsc, accepted him easily enough after subjecting him to several examinations by his hamster. The druid seemed wary of him still, but she was closed off to most everyone. And then there was the mage herself. She was quiet, almost shy, and her fierce determination to rescue her sister was impressive.

They were good people, and he enjoyed their company. But it didn't change the fact that he had to deliver them to a monster when the time came.

It was when she started opening up that he found himself praying that the 'when' would turn to an 'if', and that that 'if' would never come. Because then they started to talk.

He wasn't one to be anti-social - it wasn't his nature - but he truly enjoyed their talks. Their little conversations could be lighthearted or serious, about their past or the world around them. He found himself sharing more about himself than he ever thought he would. And sometimes when they would talk he could almost forget everything hanging over them. When she told him about her home in Candlekeep, their impossible task of hunting Irenicus and finding her sister was but a passing nightmare. As he spoke of his family in Kara-Tur the geas upon him was gone.

If only she had sent him away when they had escaped Irenicus' hell-hole. He wouldn't have known her at all, true, but wouldn't that be better than this? He could have run so far, could have hidden himself away. It was doubtful that the mage was all that interested in him, anyway. He was just a relatively useful tool.

But she hadn't. And so he was holding her close as they sat by the fire, the moon rising before them, watching as she played idly with the bubbles created by a wild surge when she'd lit the fire. If they were anyone else, it could be perfect.

And then she had kissed him, and the mess he was in had tightened its hold. Because he didn't want to push her away, to be the cause of the embarrassed rejection in her eyes. If they were anyone else...

She'd come to him the next night as he raged internally at himself and his situation. If they'd been in the city he probably would have taken off until the morning. But they were far from Athkatla, and he was left to sit in the dark as the others slept. She sat with him by the dying fire and they had spoken softly. She told him he was a good man.

He wasn't.

If he were, he wouldn't have pulled her close when she kissed him then. He wouldn't have held her through that night and each one that followed.

If he were a good man, he wouldn't have been put into this situation to begin with.

He wanted to push her away, to regain that cool indifference that he _should _have for her. He needed to. The thoughts of the damned geas were becoming almost physical in their pain. And yet when the evening spread its chill, he pulled her close to keep her warm, held her softly when she pressed her sweet lips to his. He couldn't bring himself to deny her these things, no matter how much they hurt him. Even though he knew they would hurt her just as much when she found out.

He hated the hurt in her eyes when the thoughts became too much and he could barely stand to look at her. He hated that he became a distraction to her on those days that he tried to cut himself off. She would keep her distance when he got like that, watching him in concern until he finally looked at her. Only then would she return to him, whispering a soft apology for something she didn't understand and eventually relaxing into his embrace. She seemed to know that her affection was a part of the cause of those days, even if she didn't know why.

Neither of them deserved this. They couldn't.

It had been disgustingly easy to slip them all the spell components he had been instructed to. Perhaps because they were stuck on a ship with vampires everyone was too concerned to notice.

He'd stood with her at the front of the boat as she drank the tea he'd made her. She believed him when he told her the slightly different taste was due to a herb he'd had to make do with. He knew he was a coward.

He wished things were different. He wished that it really were possible for them to slip into the asylum, find Imoen, and run. It would be so much better, even if they had to keep running to stay away from the powerful mage. But even desperate wishes don't work, and the Gods of his homeland seemed too far to hear him.

When Irenicus spoke of his traitorous actions, he couldn't bear to look at her. The confusion and betrayal in her voice cut him, making it so much worse.

The painful death promised to him if he didn't obey Irenicus terrified him. He could admit this to her to try to explain himself, but it didn't ease the guilt of what he'd done. He didn't feel any less of a coward for it. He barely heard her speak to him as his actions ate at him. And then Irenicus' spells began, and he wished he could shut himself down.

Was it wrong to wish that the spells had consumed her? It seemed selfish to wish that she had died solely because then he wouldn't have been ordered to kill her.

He'd hidden in the shadows, waiting behind as the ten-a-penny, would-be assassins swarmed in. Maybe – just maybe – he wouldn't have to. Her party was injured and tired; maybe the poorly-trained murderers would overwhelm them. If he could be so lucky... What a twisted thing his 'luck' had become. He would count himself as lucky if she were to die before he could get to her.

He could feel the geas pushing at him to obey as the men fell to the small party, and he forced himself to step out towards them. Forced himself to look at her, when there was nothing he would like to do more than turn away.

He was glad when she stepped back. And perhaps it was just the desperate imaginings of a man about to die, but she didn't seem filled with the hatred he had expected. But either way, she had stepped away from the fight. He was going to die at the end of it regardless, but if it could end before he had to raise his weapon against her it would be that much less painful. So he turned to Haer-Dalis, the only one he was absolutely certain could best him. The geas wouldn't stand for anything less than his full effort put into the fight. Maybe the others could defeat him as well. It didn't matter.

The last thing that really mattered to him was the sob he heard as the tiefling's blade drove into his chest with a fiery pain.

He had never been a good man.

OoOoOoOoO

A/N: Well, there's that. ^.^ Screw writing happy stuff, aha.

Yoshimo's got to be one of my favourite characters in BGII (and do I ever adore the romance mod on G3), and I take him with me on most playthroughs. And he's got theiving abilities! So I don't have to deal with characters that irritate me/walking into every trap that was ever set (why did you start messing with spells, Im? WHY?).

Not much else to say other than that I hate trying to write summaries. XD

Yours 'till death,

Madisson.


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